


Anticipation

by IamShadow21



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Banter, Booty Calls, Gift Fic, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Ianto Jones, Pornography, Spoilers, Stopwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-19
Updated: 2009-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night off is a rare thing, and Ianto has a plan for this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anticipation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [copperbadge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/gifts).



> This is for [copperbadge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge), who broke himself yet again. Fic makes it better.

_‘This always happens when I give them the night off.’_ Jack, Combat

While Torchwood was pretty much a twenty-four hour, seven day a week, three-hundred and sixty-five day a year job, every so often, some days when the Rift predictor was quiet, others, purely on an unpredictable whim, Jack would give them the night off. A full ten-to-twelve hours in which to do such exciting things as sleeping, washing clothes, and cleaning out those mouldy things from the fridge.

Lately, a night off meant Ianto hung around the Hub anyway. The risk of getting caught by a teammate was much less imminent, but Jack still relished workplace sex with a borderline unhealthy obsession that he was usually happy to indulge. Tonight, however, almost the moment the dispensation was given, he was donning his coat and stepping out into the damp and frigid evening air.

His flat smelt stale and unloved. There was something in the crisper that was probably developing sentience, and his washing basket was almost full. Usually, those elements would have been the first things that he attended to, but his patience was worn thin from days on call. Instead, he poured himself a glass of scotch, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and got settled on the couch in front of a DVD that probably had overdue fines on it equal to a week’s worth of pay.

He set the stopwatch, quietly ticking, on the table in front of him, next to his socked feet as the opening credits rolled and the burn of the alcohol settled pleasantly in his stomach. He estimated he had enough time for the set-up and excuse for a plot to be over with and the action sequences to begin before he was interrupted.

Two drinks and thirty minutes later, he depressed the button and replaced the stopwatch next to his discarded cufflinks.

“You’ve got your own key,” he called out, the alcohol thickening his accent and stretching his vowels into a lazy drawl.

After a truly unnecessary amount of fumbling and bluster, Jack strolled into the room in a gust of Cardiff winter air, smelling of industry and ozone.

First, he shot a predatory glance at Ianto, then his eyes flicked to the screen. “Oh, I _like_ this one,” Jack said with relish, his grin Cheshire Cat wide. “Have you seen the bit where-“

“No, I haven’t,” Ianto cut him off. “I haven’t watched it at all, yet, and if you talk all the way through it and spoil it for me, I _will_ shoot you.”

Jack held up both hands in mock surrender, then slipped off his coat and hung it on the hook next to Ianto’s. 

Ianto topped up his glass, then poured a measure into the second glass he’d set out in anticipation of Jack’s arrival. “How was Weevil hunting?” he asked, casually.

“Brief. Boring. Someone must have given them the night off,” Jack sighed, flopping down next to Ianto. “You got started without me,” he added, affecting a pout.

“You’re never interested in the preliminaries,” Ianto countered, failing to hide his smirk behind a cool, civil mask. Effectively disguising his smugness was one of the first things to go when he drank.

“That’s not true,” Jack protested.

“Taking a pause from undressing me to offer me a choice of location for the main event does not count as ‘foreplay’.”

“You don’t usually complain,” Jack leered.

Ianto slapped Jack’s hand away. “Anticipation, in its purest form, can be as good as the act itself,” Ianto stated, almost primly.

“So that’s why you’re sitting here, drinking scotch and watching porn, and you haven’t even unzipped your fly?” Jack said slowly, as if trying to figure Ianto out. “You really are a masochist, aren’t you?”

“You don’t usually complain,” Ianto replied, then sucked in a sharp breath as Jack started to slide his zipper down, notch by notch.

“No,” Jack said, his voice infused with fond indulgence.

Ianto tried to focus on the screen, but the warm haze of alcohol and the hot, slow suction of Jack’s mouth made that impossible. Instead, he threaded his fingers gently into Jack’s silky hair, closed his eyes, and let the anticipation build.


End file.
